


Ants in the Honey

by hydropen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack-ish, Demon Stiles, F/M, Gen, M/M, and language, but definitely friendship, maybe some violence, warning for threat of non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydropen/pseuds/hydropen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Allison thought she handled her entrance into the realm of supernatural quite well, all things considered. Werewolves? Okay. Werewolf hunters? Alright. Generations of werewolf-versus-hunter antagonism manifesting itself in her boyfriend and her parents? Sure, why not. But Stiles was their island of normal in a sea of chaos, and a demon of a whale just came out of nowhere and swallowed him whole.</i>
</p>
<p>  <i>It all started with those chocolate chip cookies.</i><br/> <br/>In which a demon brings out one side of Stiles and another side of Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ants in the Honey

“And this is why chocolate is bad for you, honey,” Stiles said, rasping the last word as they handcuffed him to a chair in Scott’s house. Well Stiles, but not really Stiles. The spirit, or whatever was possessing Stiles, that had a burning stare of fireless coal eyes and a smile looking to devour his—its captors. Yeah, that was more accurate.

“Don’t call me honey.” Allison lifted her chin, managing to keep her voice from shaking. She stared down at the inexplicable black haze that shrouded its eyes between the flutter of lashes, the eyes of a captor slumped down on the cold cement who was enjoying every second there.

“Then don’t wear that—“ Stiles, no the _demon_ , shot upward at her, the chains barely keeping his nose an inch from her face as she flinched, “—delicious perfume. Do I smell a bit of peach blossom there? “

“Don’t you ever touch Allison!” Scott yelled as he punched the demon in the jaw, propelling Stiles’ face sideways. “And it’s plum blossom!” He was about to land another when Allison pulled him back.

“Stop! No Scott, remember it isn’t Stiles!” She turned his face to hers to calm him down.

“She’s right, that wasn’t me you dumbass.” They looked back to see Stiles’ familiar gaping mouth and not-really-menacing glare. The demon had let their friend come back, whether out of self-preservation or amusement she didn’t know. “So what, we’re gonna hit me everytime the inner douche decides to come out and take over? Remember, he’s the tenant but I’m the goddamn landlord!”

“You’ve been cursing a lot more since you got possessed,” Scott noted thoughtfully.

“Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m possessed by a demon and not a fucking forest fairy,” Stiles snarked.

Allison thought she handled her entrance into the realm of supernatural quite well, all things considered. Werewolves? Okay. Werewolf hunters? Alright. Generations of werewolf-versus-hunter antagonism manifesting itself in her boyfriend and her parents? Sure, why not. But Stiles was their island of normal in a sea of chaos, and a demon of a whale just came out of nowhere and swallowed him whole. “Stiles, I am so, so sorry this happened to you,” said Allison, leaning forward to touch his shoulders. Then she remembered the demon and settled for an encouraging tighten of her fist.” I promise we’ll figure out a way to fix this.”

“It’s not your fault,” Stiles grumbled, “and it would have happened to someone else if it wasn’t me. Guess we’re lucky I’m someone who’s used up his year supply of shock on werewolves.”

“Anyways, what are we supposed to do now that we locked you up?” asked Scott, his brow furrowing.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, maybe Google what _the hell is happening to me?_ ” His cuffs chinked as he shook his hands.

“I have a copy of the bestiary in my car,” said Allison. “Maybe I can find a page on demon possession in there.”

Scott nodded. He turned back to Stiles and asked, “You need some water?”

“That would be great. Maybe a bag too, in case my head starts spinning and a vomit green goop everywhere.” Stiles made a face and tried to make himself as comfortable as he could slumped down and chained to a chair.

Scott chuckled before giving his friend a reassuring smile. When Stiles relinquished a smile in return, Scott followed Allison out of his bedroom and down the stairs.

They both looked up when they heard the sound of glass shattering. They looked at each other.

Bounding up the stairs as fast as they could, Scott reached his bedroom first and nearly ripped the door off its hinges. He was staring at the empty space where Stiles had just been flopped on like a half-dead cat. The chair leg was dented where the handcuffs were torn from, and pieces of the broken window littered the floor. When he heard Allison reach the door and gasp in shock, Scott took a step forward and looked out the window. The rooftops were empty except for the whisper of a breeze.

“Should have seen this coming,” said Scott, looking back at Allison worriedly.

The shit all started with those chocolate chip cookies.

\-----

“I just want to let you guys know, I’m perfectly fine with being third-wheeled as long as you give me those delicious looking cookies,” Scott had said as he eyed the home-baked morsels sitting in Allison’s lap. “Though anything’s better than being house arrested and stuck without a car, really, even if said car is a piece of junkish junk and I haven’t gamed since the last full moon.”

They were sitting along the cliff facing the dark midnight sky, Allison’s car parked a ways back in the woods. It was a chilly night, but Scott and Allison had each other, and Stiles had, well, he brought along an extra red sweater.

Allison laughed. “After saving my boyfriend multiple times this past month—“ Scott turned to her with an expression of I’ve-saved-his-and-your-life-just-as-many-times-where-are-my-cookies—“this was the least I could do. Well, technically me and my father. His training lesson for the day.”

She handed the box to Stiles, whose open-mouthed smile almost let out a drop of drool at the sight. If he was going to sit through an evening of his-friends-not-so-discreetly making out on the cliff, he could better stomach it with a pile of sugar in his gut. Stiles relocated to a comfy position behind a tree, ripped the plastic top off, and shoved a perfectly round cookie in his mouth. Aaaah, the soothing comfort of butter-flour, and the creamy melting of chocolate—was that chocolate?

“Hey Allison. Allison!” Stiles shouted, flipping around the tree and breaking up the couple’s eye-sex. “What kind of cookies are these?”

Scott glared at him, his hand on the lower section of her waist, and Allison took a moment to put herself together. “They’re chocolate chip. Or some kind of chip. I dunno, I couldn’t really read the label. I think it was smudged from some of my grandfather’s cooking supplies. Why,” she asked, looking up at him, “do they taste bad?”

“No, no they don’t taste bad,” Stiles said, wiping off crumbs from his face as he took a big swallow of the rest of the cookie. “They’re just…” He blinked several times. That was odd. Instead of feeling carbs filling up his stomach, he felt like a void was opening up inside his gut, a vacuum trying to suck up whatever he was trying to say. “They’re just…” Stiles tried to get up, but his head was pounding and swirling, and he stumbled into the ground.

“Hey buddy, you okay?” Scott asked.

Stiles felt his breath shortening—where the hell did he leave his inhaler—and his hands were shaking the dead leaves lying there with him. And then he felt as if a cold hand was tightening around his brain.

_Well, hello there. Stiles, is it?_

What the—

 

“Stiles, Stiles! You alright?” Allison called out. She quickly got up and rushed over with Scott.

Stiles slowly got up, legs first, then back arching, then head. His eyes were obscured by the tree leaves. “I’m perfectly fine. In fact, better than fine,” he said. Holding up his hands, he bent his fingers one by one, a smile spreading across your lips.

“Stiles,” Scott echoed.

 “It’s just your cookies,” Stiles mentioned thoughtfully. His eyes shot up. “They are the worst fucking excuse for food I have ever had the displeasure of tasting. If I had a fucking dog, and I ripped its tongue out, and then I crushed its nose, I still wouldn’t feed it that shit.”

“Excuse me?—“

Allison choked as Stiles’ hand darted out and picked her up by the throat. One hand clawed at Stiles’ grip as she kicked her legs. Looking down, she only saw pitch black eyes.

“You’re better off tasting your own blood than your cookies, I’d say,” the figure replied slowly, licking his lips.

“What the hell, Stiles!?” Scott yelled. His eyes were beginning to turn yellow, but the rest of his body was frozen in confusion.

“My name isn’t Stiles, son, it’s—“ Allison only heard a mumble of unintelligible sounds—“and you best get that straight. Because demons aren’t particularly responsible when it comes to returning library books _or_ bodies—“

The sudden buzzing sound broke Scott’s shock, and he quickly fell to a knee to catch Stiles’ falling body. The smell of burnt flesh wafted through the air. Where Allison was dangling moments before, Scott looked up to see her standing firmly with a taser gripped in her sweaty hand. They held each other’s gaze of mutual what-the-fuck-just-happened.

Scott just shook his head and looked back at his unconscious friend, whose face seemed as at peace as a well-fed badger. There was no sign of evil underneath Stiles’ clammy skin, but Scott shivered all the same. “At moments like this, Stiles would say something funny or know what to do. Usually both.”

\-----

Grass barely made a sound beneath his feet as Derek prowled through the woods, taking in the scent of a cold night. The forest was filled with sickening memories, but when he couldn’t sleep at the confining home—no not yet, not home—warehouse, he wandered out into the crisp air, hoping nostalgia of better days would clear his head. When his pack would ask him in the morning what he was up to, he would just bare his fangs and respond with a day of grueling training.

Even before fighting, they still hadn’t fully learned how to control their senses. Erica could sniff out male pheromones from a mile away, but they would be dead meat if they couldn’t pick up the sound of an arrow notching or a safety clicking.

Not that Scott’s pack seemed to be doing much better. Scott was excelling as a newfound Alpha, but the girl and his friend wouldn’t be able to sense the Kanima until it was too late, and Scott couldn’t protect them all the time. Derek hated to admit it, but he needed Scott, and without Allison and Stiles he wouldn’t get what he needed to survive in a war.

Though, Derek did remember the arrow feather poking out of the hunter’s leg when he rushed into the police station. And he remembered Stiles holding him up in the pool, treading for their lives even as his paralyzed body threatened to sink. Stiles trying to keep him alive for God-knows what reason.

Stiles.

Derek whipped his head around. No one had been able to sneak up on him like that since his sister had died. There, across from him, lounging against the tree, stood the funny shadow grinning like a predator in the night. Except he wasn’t funny when Derek realized he couldn’t smell anything on him.

“Stiles, what the hell are you doing here?” Derek growled.

“Oooh, my first time awake in _ages_ , and I’ve had the fortune of meeting two werewolves already. Are you and this Scott friends?” He unfolded his arms and took a step forward.

Derek was wrong; if he concentrated, he could pick up the faint scent of rot. But if there was a heart beating in there, he couldn’t pick it up over his feeling of unsettledness. If this thing in Stiles’ body met Scott already, then Scott would probably show up soon, preferably with answers. Baring his fangs he demanded, “Who are you?”

The figure looked up for a moment, contemplating something. Then he said, “Derek Hale, Beacon Hills alpha, tragic past, and pretty amazing shirtless, according to the kid.” He looked back at the werewolf. “I’m your friendly neighborhood demon, and I’m going to rip your fucking throat out while your friend watches, Sourwolf.”

The demon lunged at Derek with inhuman speed, and Derek barely rolled away in time. Pulling out the claws, he snarled back. “Get out of his body now, or I’ll tear your eyes out.”

The demon tsked. “You mean Stiles’ eyes. And he seems to think you never go through with your threats.”

Before Derek could move out of the way, the demon had jumped onto him, pinning his claws down with Stiles’ tiny hands. The lacrosse player couldn’t have weighed more than 140 pounds, but his hips were firmly crushing down against Derek’s.

“Or maybe,” the demon whispered, bringing its face an inch away from Derek’s nose, “I’ll have myself a good fuck with the big bad wolf.”

Derek looked up at Stiles, no the demon, looming over him, and when it smiled Derek felt fear and its warm breath begin to slip into his head. He felt something in his groin when spoke in Stiles’ voice, and knew he couldn’t let the situation get even more fucked up. He was not in control of his head, not in control of his body, and sure as hell not in control of the demon. So Derek looked to his most basic instinct of survival.

Derek roared.

The trees seemed to shake as his anger displaced fear and reverberated around them, knocking nuts out of the trees and knocking the demon off –balance. As it stumbled back, Derek propelled himself up and grabbed it by the neck.

“Whoa, whoa!” came a frightened cry from Stiles’ mouth as his body flailed around like a flag in a storm. “I swear to God, everything that came out of my mouth was totally the demon, not me. Except that sentence. And this sentence. I did not want to rip your fucking throat, I think you have a perfectly fine throat—“

“Shut up!” Derek yelled, shaking his head in confusion. He dropped Stiles to the ground. Stiles seemed back to normal, smelled back to normal. Nothing particularly evil in his eyes.

“I swear, this entire time I was trying to stop him from killing you, but you know I didn’t really have full control of my limbs at the time, I mean I just shouted in my head a lot, of course you couldn’t hear me cause the demon was the one talking—“

Derek shot a glare, and Stiles immediately shut his mouth, nodding like a bobble-head.

“You alright?” Derek asked, giving Stiles a hand to get up.

“Besides the mental trauma, yeah I am now, thanks to you,” Stiles replied as he stood, rubbing his throat where claws had previously hugged it. “I don’t know if you scared the fucking demon away completely, or if it just retreated—“

Stiles’ neck snapped to the side before swinging back up like a stretched rubberband. “Sorry sweethearts, I’m still here—“

Derek punched it square in the nose so hard that Stiles’ body flew back a couple of feet before settling into the dirt. Blood spurted out all over Stiles’ hoodie, but he only lay there unconscious.

“You killed him!” came a shout from behind.

Derek turned around to see Scott bound forward and crouch between him and Stiles. “He’s not dead,” Derek corrected irritatedly, “but he is possessed if you haven’t noticed, and he tried to kill me.”

“Oh. Okay then.” Scott nodded his head to the side. He rushed back to his best friend to check if the blow did anything serious to his nose.

“Mind explaining what the hell is going on?” Derek snarled, walking up to them.

“Allison fed him some cookies, which were probably contaminated with something that Gerard Argent owns.”

Derek stared down incredulously. How they survived without him around, Derek would never figure out. “And you know how to fix this.”

“Eh, working on that.” Scott said with as much reassurance as he could muster. Which wasn’t much.

“You do know that the Kanima is still running around, along with the Argents, on top of this demon situation.”

“Of course I know,” Scott retorted. “I’m not an idiot.” He picked up Stiles by the feet and began dragging the body, with Stiles’ head bumping up and down on the grass. “Allison’s parked not too far from here. Now help me bring Stiles to the vet, since you were the one who knocked him out.”

Derek looked around before huffing in defeat. “You better figure this out, or I’ll have to kill him.” With ease, he picked up Stiles and started carrying him like a bride across the woods. It didn’t seem like he would ever get a night of decent sleep while in Beacon Hills.  

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this person's](http://psychic-drips.tumblr.com/) lovely demon Stiles gifs.  
> Honestly, I don't know what to do with the title so that's it for now.
> 
> If anyone would be willing to beta the next chapter, that would be awesome. Send me a message if you can!


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